


Losing Control

by captain_iodine (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/captain_iodine
Summary: Danse's thoughts keep wandering back to Nora, but then things take an unexpected turn...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tess1978](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess1978/gifts).



> Set after Chapter 2 of [Songbird](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8442982/chapters/19341991), orphaned from the series to keep it suitable for all audiences. 
> 
> This is a modest gift for tess1978, without whom I wouldn't have gotten around to revisiting the whole Danse/Curie thing.
> 
> Also, if you're not into the whole smut thing, feel free to give this chapter a miss! Nothing plotty happens, this is simply gratuitous porn for funsies.

The apartment in Goodneighbor is about as cold and impersonal as the quarters on the Prydwen had been; in his time here, Danse has barely put any effort into decorating. 

He might be staying here for the foreseeable future, but that doesn't make it home. 

Thanksgiving was two days ago, and yet he keeps playing the kiss over and over again, like a holotape stuck on repeat.

Every time he lives it again, it plays out a little differently: at first, Nora doesn't kiss him, then _he's_ the one to kiss her. Before long his daydreams have them taking it back to the Home Plate, from which the other guests have conveniently disappeared. 

He always stops just before she can lead him up the creaky wooden stairs to her bed; he knows there'll be no going back from that. 

Still he replays it, even as he half-heartedly scrubs at the dishes piling up in the sink, and as he contemplates making a stop down to KL-E-O to stock up on ammunition.

Eventually he runs through his old Brotherhood training routine, right there on the dusty carpet in the middle of the main room. He stretches, loosening out tense muscles and joints.

It's still a little odd to do this in silence, without the clink of cast iron weights and the noise of exertion from his Brotherhood comrades, but he soon stops noticing as he slips into the zone. 

It isn't long before his body stops registering the cold of his draughty old apartment. Barely halfway in, his tank clings to his skin, stained dark with sweat. 

This is good: healthy. Better than dwelling on the past, or what might have been. 

He's breathless when he finishes, pulling himself up after a set of sit-ups and taking a moment to stretch again. The clock on the wall across from him, its face already cracked when he moved in, reads 4:15pm.

It's already starting to get dark out. 

He lets his arms drop at his sides, and in the brief lull of activity he can hear the rhythm of Goodneighbor — the side that comes to life at night — starting to pick up. 

Over in Diamond City, Nora’s probably already at the Dugout. The regulars there always seem to flock to her, lapping up her stories. Danse can't say he blames them. 

He puffs up his chest; lets out all of his breath in a weary sigh.

An errant bead of sweat trickles down his neck and he scrubs it away with the back of his wrist. Whatever Nora might be doing, _he's_ here, and _he_ needs a shower. 

Danse lets the faucet run awhile first, until the grit gives way to clear water. When he dips his hand experimentally into the stream he finds it hot for once and almost trips over his pants in his haste to get out of them. 

The first blast of heat on his skin is so glorious that he just stands there awhile, soaking it in. When it feels like he can't take it any more, he dials back the heat a little. 

His hands find the knots in his shoulders and neck, and he deftly works them out with his fingers. Under the spray of pleasantly warm water, his mind wanders. 

_Nora’s hunched over the workbench when he walks through the rolling door, and even from here he can see the oil on her skin, little black fingerprints smudged across her arms and neck. He already knows what it'll smell like, mingled with the scent of her soap._

_She looks up from her work with a soft little laugh as he winds an arm around her waist. His lips find her earlobe, and the laugh turns into a content sigh._

His eyes snap open. 

He doesn't know what prompted that particular memory — he'd forgotten all about it. He tries to push it out of his head, but he can feel that twinge, that blood-rushing-southwards sensation. 

He doesn't need to look to know that he's getting hard, but he lets his hand venture downwards, tentatively stroking his cock. 

_He murmurs into her ear that they should go someplace private, but she grabs his hand before he can pull it away. She guides it between her legs and uses his fingers to touch her through her clothing._

_She's pressing back against him, and if he hadn't already been hard the friction of her grinding her ass against his hips certainly would have got him there._

_Someone could walk in at any moment and he tries to tell her, but she won't listen._

_’That's what makes it fun,’ she says, and she turns to him with a wicked grin, dropping to her knees in front of him._

Danse's tongue darts out to wet his lips. He's breathing heavier now, his grip around his erection a little more purposeful. 

His fingers go, as if by ingrained habit, to the head of his cock; he dips his fingertip into the slick pre-cum he finds there and lifts his hand, bringing it to his mouth. 

_Another day, another tumbledown settlement. They had the mattress in the shack out back for the night, in exchange for clearing out a gang of nearby Raiders tormenting the settlers._

_They should be packing up and getting ready to move along, but they're taking their sweet time about it._

_She kneels astride him, in a tee and panties; she has the latter pulled to the side so he can watch her tease herself. He's not allowed to touch himself, not yet, and when he can't help but buck his hips she crawls up to him so that his cock is pinned between their bodies._

_Her fingers find his mouth, and the taste of her on his tongue is enough to make him moan._

How long has it been? How long since he felt somebody's hands on his skin?

He leans his forehead against the tiled wall and the water pours down his neck, streaming down his body. Sometimes a rivulet hits his dick and the sudden contact makes his erection twitch.

He's touching himself again, the contact impossible to resist. He knows he's wasting water and yet he doesn't care — doesn't have room for any thoughts that don't help him closer to the edge. 

_They're in the rain together — Thanksgiving. This time, when she pulls back from their kiss he lets his eyes linger on the pert shape of her breasts visible through her wet blouse._

_She catches him looking and she takes his hand, and when they slip into the Home Plate nobody spares them a glance. He can hear the others laughing and talking downstairs as she brings him up to her bed._

_He only realizes when she begins unbuttoning her blouse that she isn't wearing a bra, and he drinks in the sight as she slips the wet shirt from her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. His eyes seek hers for permission and she nods, and as he lowers his head and gently tugs at her nipple with his teeth, her fingers knot through his hair._

His breathing is erratic, the stroking of his hand even more so. He can feel his climax spooling up within him but he slows and holds back, biting down on his lip to ground himself. 

_She shoves him back on the bed, and when she climbs on top of him she's not Nora any more, she's Curie. Her eyes are as wide as a doe’s._

_She's wearing that costume from Halloween, the one with the dress that just about skirted the tops of her thighs. When he looks down he notices the suspender clips holding her stockings up, and the sight of something so_ sexy _on somebody as sweet as her makes his heart hammer in his ribcage._

_’Won't you touch me, Monsieur?’ she asks, and she shyly takes his right hand and places it on her thigh._

_He traces his fingertips up the strap of her suspenders and finds them clipped to a narrow slip of fabric; he brushes against the warm wetness between her legs and realizes with a throb of his dick that she isn't wearing panties._

_His other hand trembles as he hurriedly unfastens his fly, slipping his cock free. The next thing he knows, she's lowering herself onto his dick, and she's so wet and so tight that he feels like he could explode._

His hand is slick now with pre-cum, and maybe the water's gone cold but maybe he doesn't care. 

_She throws her head back and he tracks his gaze up that long, slender neck. He sees her bite her lip, her eyelids fluttering closed as she works herself onto him and—_

He gives a strangled cry as heat spills out over his fingers, his whole body shuddering. For a moment the world goes white and there's nothing but the sensation of ecstasy and the image of Curie riding him, her body arched with pleasure.

Even as he starts to come down from the high, he can't shake the picture of her from his mind.

He's not so sure he wants to.


End file.
